Chapter 6 - The Iron Citadel
The Callahan estate sat behind towering iron gates on the outskirts of Barrington, a sprawling gothic mansion of dark stone, reinforced glass, and private security checkpoints that rivaled federal penitentiaries.
When my black sedan rolled through the front gates, Emily stared out the window at the manicured grounds and patrolling guards with a cold, analytical gaze.
“Nice cage,” she remarked dryly as Victor opened the car door for us.
“It keeps the wolves out,” I replied, extending a hand to help her out, which she pointedly ignored, stepping onto the gravel driveway under her own power.
Victor greeted us on the stone steps, his eyes flicking nervously toward Emily before landing on me. “Richard, we have a problem. Marcus Vance and his faction are waiting in the main study. They heard about the hospital shooting, and they’re demanding to know who got past our security perimeter.”
Marcus Vance was my senior regional caporegime—a ruthless, old-school enforcer who believed violence was the answer to every problem and viewed my recent attempts to legitimize parts of our portfolio as a sign of weakness. If Marcus caught wind of who Emily was, she wouldn't survive the hour.
“Lock her in the private west wing,” I instructed Victor in a low hiss. “Double the guard detail outside her door. Nobody touches her without my direct, written authorization. Understood?”
“Understood,” Victor said, nodding grimly.
Emily crossed her arms, glaring at me. “I am not a prisoner to be locked away while the men talk business—”
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“You are a guest whose survival depends entirely on discretion right now,” I cut her off, my voice brooking no argument. “Stay in the west wing. I’ll be back when the wolves are fed.”
Without waiting for her reply, I turned and strode toward the heavy oak doors of the main study, pulling my coat tight as I prepared to face the men who thought they could dictate terms in my house.
